


The Things They Do In The Dark

by writeyourownlifestory



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Depression, Fight Club - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 03:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyourownlifestory/pseuds/writeyourownlifestory
Summary: Sometimes the only way to handle pent-up aggression is to have the absolute shit beaten out of you.





	The Things They Do In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this 100% on watching Mickey and Ian in Shameless beat the shit out of one another throughout their relationship.

 

His dad was dead. 

 

Joe knew it would happen eventually. People die all the time, it’s just how life goes and a good portion of those people were fathers. Even more so, his dad had been sick for a really long time. Longer than one night expect. He put up a good fight. 

 

A damn good fight. 

 

But that didn’t soften the blow. Even with the blow looming over them, it didn’t make the eventual death any easier. Nothing would make it easier. Death wasn’t easy, but then again, neither was life. 

 

It was just him and his mom now. They had the funeral and scattered his ashes in his favorite places. They kept a bit of it. In an old fashioned urn that his mom kept close to her and inside a special piece that Joe’s uncle had made for him. It was a tiny silver pendent in the shape of a baseball that Joe wore around his neck. 

 

He wore it every day since it had been given to him. He kept it close, beneath his shirt, taking it off only for showers and sometimes bed. 

 

They said goodbye to friends and sold their house and made their way to England. They didn’t have a choice. They lived modestly, with his parents making careers out of being small town dance instructors. Joe was still in school. Young and eager. They waited for him to graduate, using up the last bit of the money they had saved before it was time to go. 

 

The medical bills were paid off and Joe gave up his college fund in order for them to find a place close enough to his aunt and uncle in England. He had never been there before, though he always mentioned wanting to visit. 

 

Now he lived there, leaving his life in American behind him. All he had left were memories and a tiny sprinkle of his fathers ashes. 

 

They got an apartment. Or a flat, as they called it. It was small, but affordable. His mother got another job teaching dance, though she didn’t have the same spark about it. Even when his dad was dying, he would still try to bust a move or encourage her to do so. 

 

Now she was doing it for the sake of supporting herself and her son. 

 

Joe got a job too, wanting to help out and not be such a burden. Truth was, he hated it. Hated where he worked, where he lived. Hated how the weather in England couldn’t decide if it wanted to be wet or dry. Hated that they had to pack up everything and move across the world because his mom couldn’t handle this on her own. 

 

He didn’t hate his mom. He understood her pain. Her best friend and partner was gone after months of watching him suffer. She needed her family. He just wished he could have been enough and they could have stayed behind. Even if they had to give up their home, they could have found someplace in town. 

 

They could have kept a sense of normalcy, but it just wasn’t an option.

 

It was two months in when his aunt surprised him. There was a smaller university close enough to town and they were going to pay his way. He dreamed of going to school for film, but now he’d take simple liberal arts classes to get his associates degree or whatever the British equivalent was. 

 

He guessed they had sensed his all around destain for what was happening to his life and thought this might cheer him up. It did, to a degree. It allowed him to get out more. He went to work as a stock boy at an old fashioned book store that (somehow) was still in business and then he hung around his flat. 

 

He had no friends. No life. No future. He was as dead on the inside as his father was in general. 

 

School wasn’t terrible. He got used to being the oddity. People staring at the random and strange American that roamed the halls. He went to class and got good grades. He interacted with a few people, but didn’t make friends. 

 

Correction, he made one friend. 

 

His name was Allen and he was in Joe’s literature class. A meek boy who was bubbly and bright. He caught Joe off guard every time they spoke, with Allen always trying to get to know Joe a bit more. 

 

When asked why he moved, he told him the truth. His dad was dead and his mom went mental. They lived in a flat and Joe hated his life. Simple as that. Allen didn’t seem fazed, to be honest. He admitted Joe’s story was tragic, but so was life. 

 

They were sitting together outside when Joe snapped for the first time. They were working on a paper and Joe couldn’t get his thoughts straight. He didn’t need to be top of the class, but he refused to fail. And yet this one theory by this one author for this one book was pushing his limits. He screamed loudly, releasing a bit of the aggression that was pent up inside of him as he threw the book far, far away from him. 

 

Allen stood watching him, his innocent eyes wide and full of shock. Joe sat back down, trying to force everything back inside and seal the lid on tightly. It was too late, however. Allen mentioned how he had a temper and asked if he had an outlet. 

 

Joe just shrugged. Was screaming at a book not an outlet?

 

Allen made him an offer, saying that he too has a bit of an angry side. He thought a good cry would fix it, but it wasn’t enough. He offered to show Joe, so long as he didn’t ask questions and didn’t tell a soul about it. 

 

Joe knew it sounded crazy and terrible, but he agreed. After all, what else did he have to lose? 

 

So he agreed to meet Allen. Far off along he streets, Allen led him through alleyways and under bridges. Joe wasn’t allowed to question. Only follow. Eventually they came upon an abandoned warehouse and he was led inside. 

 

They weren’t alone, much to Joe’s surprise. They were high up, hidden away out of sight. Below them, there were men standing around in a circle, watching as two others wrestle around. It didn’t take much to see they were fighting. No boxing gloves or protection. Just two guys going at it until one pinned the other down. 

 

Allen explained what a lot of people were going through a lot of things and this was their outlet for it. Joe wondered who the fuck would get joy out of kicking the shit out of someone, or more so, having the shit kicked out of them. Allen forced Joe out after one fight, explaining that this was a secret and that if Joe didn’t want in, then he’d have to forget he ever saw it. 

 

But if he did want in, he had to knuckle up. First timers fight on their first day. It was simple as that. Allen rattled off the other rules you were meant to follow. 

 

You don’t talk about the group, you don’t think about the group. You fight without shoes, without shirts, without jewelry. If you or someone else says stop, you fucking stop but the one saying it is determined to be the loser. You fight until you’re pinned for ten-seconds or until you can’t fight anymore. You want out, then you’re out but you’re never allowed back in.

 

It seemed like something out of a movie or even some graphic novel. It didn’t seem real. But it was and Allen was offering Joe a chance to choice. 

 

It was ridiculous, but like with a lot of things Joe had going on in his life, he just didn’t care enough. 

 

They went downstairs right then and there. Allen offered to bring him back another night, but Joe wanted to get this over with now. The smaller man nudged him closer as they approached the group. He called out a name and a blond man stood up, approaching. 

 

His accent was thick and his face was perfect. Joe let out a small huff. Why the fuck were people in England prettier than Americans? It just didn’t make sense. Even with half the men wearing scars and blood, they were still so fucking nice to look at. 

 

“Fresh meat.” The man — Ben he had been named — spoke as he looked over Joe once. His eyes flickered over to Allen, narrowing suddenly. “Does he know?” 

 

“All of them.” 

 

Green eyes landed back to him. “Tell me what you know.” He demanded. 

 

Joe told him the rules that had been explained. When he finished, the blond nodded approvingly. “First timers fight. Shirt and shoes off. Rami!” 

 

A smaller, darker man appeared, beaming with excitement. He pulled off his shirt with a bit too much energy and Joe turned back to Allen. 

 

“You’ll be fine,” Allen said. “Mostly.” 

 

Bobbing his head, Joe pulled off his sweater, handing it to Allen. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. Allen grabbed him by the arm, pointing to his pendent. With a swallow, he unhooked it, passing it over to the man. “I need that back.” He muttered. 

 

Turning away, Joe walked deeper into the makeshift ring of men. Allen was bouncing on the balls of his feet, punching the air. The blond man, Ben, watched them for a moment before shouting to begin. 

 

Joe had been in a fight or two back in the states. He was lanky and thin and was easy to pick on. Some people made fun of him for this or that and he had thrown a few punches before. His dad taught him how to fight and he used that now, though to be honest, it didn’t measure up. There weren’t any real rules other than to just use your hands and feet. 

 

Rami was quick on his feet and had obviously done this before. Joe got a hit in or two, but he didn’t hold a candle to the other man. Within minutes, he was pinned to the ground, the slow counting seeming like seconds by the time it was called to finish. 

 

Allen came over, pulling Joe to his feet and handing him his things back. “Better luck next time, fresh meat,” Ben called out, shouting for the next fighter to come up. 

 

Joe didn’t stay to watch. He went back home, groaning at the slight soreness of his body. He thought back to all the times he had seen Allen hiding a few bruises here or there. It never looked too bad, so he never bothered to prior, and now he knew why they existed. 

 

Joe tried to bring it up to him before class one afternoon, but Allen refused. You don’t talk about it, you don’t think about it. All Allen said was that if Joe wanted to get together on Wednesday night, then he should come to Allen’s around seven. 

 

They didn’t talk about it until they strolled up to the warehouse. Allen explained swiftly how things were done. Three times a week they met up, fought, and then moved on with their lives. You don’t have to fight every time you go, but you had to fight at least once a week. 

 

If you land in the hospital, you lie and say you got jumped. You don’t run to the cops or let anybody know what was going on. Nobody was forcing you into the ring. It was meant to relieve stress, not cause more of it. 

 

Joe watched the second time around. Allen fought and won, though he got a fat lip because of it. Two other men went up against one another, both shedding blood before the taller one was pinned down. 

 

Ben fought as well, eventually knocking out the person he was up against. Joe found that Ben was a good fighter. He knew what he was doing and wasn’t afraid to hurt someone. He dodged and blocked, using trained moved here and there. 

 

Allen mentioned that nobody ever landed a hit to Ben’s face as the blond didn’t allow it. His face was too good to destroy, so he’d take a slam to the gut one hundred times over before a fist could hit his face. 

 

They didn’t interact much, other than Ben commenting here or there. He was still new, still the outsider. When he fought again, he went down like a man, and the person he was up against was happy to see him putting a bit of energy into it. 

 

His name was Gwilym and he was a tree of a man. He pinned Joe down swiftly but was kind enough to help him back up. 

 

The third time Joe fought, he didn’t get the man of the man, but it didn’t matter. He fought dirty and got removed beginning of it. He snuck knuckle punchers without anybody noticing and landed a clear shot right against Joe’s jaw. 

 

It wasn’t broken, but he’d have a bruise for sure and it hurt like a bitch. Ben had the guy thrown out on his ass and roughed up a bit while he took him to get cleaned up. 

 

“You fight good, you know. For a new comer.” He commented, passing Joe a small bag of ice from the cooler. Joe was looking in the dirty bathroom mirror, trying to clean himself up.

 

He would lie when he was asked about it. Say he fell off the stepladder at work and landed on his face. He was glad nothing was broke, though his teeth hurt from clenching. 

 

“You should work out. Build muscle. It will help in the future.” 

 

“You would know,” Joe mentioned, gesturing to Ben’s, well everything. The man was walking muscle. 

 

“If you ever want to have a go at it, head to the gym on twelfth,” Ben mentioned, leaving Joe alone with the dirty mirror and tiny ice bag. 

 

Joe didn’t belong to a gym in the states and found very little point in joining one now, but curiosity got the best of him. He found it wasn’t a regular gym like you’d see on tv where people were smiling and working on their bodies. 

 

This place was practically empty, except for a few people lifting weights here and there. The guy at the front asked Joe how he found the place, and the man just shrugged. He knew the rules and never if this guy was just a regular guy he wasn’t going to take the chance. 

 

The man in front pointed to the door in the back and Joe walked through. Ben was there, punching at a hanging bag. Joe didn’t know what to think about it, watching him for a short moment before Ben finally noticed him. 

 

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Ben confessed, panting as he spoke. 

 

Joe shrugged, trying not to focus on the sweat-covered shirt that was clinging to Ben’s chest. “Not like I have much else to do,” Joe grumbled.

 

Ben bobbed his head, gesturing to the hanging bag. “All right. Give it a go.” 

 

Joe had a basic idea of what to do. The bag was heavy and thick and you were supposed to hit it. Not make it swing about, but just keep your punches going. He approached, getting into the stance that his father taught him before hitting it. Once. Twice. Again and again. 

 

Ben circled him like a shark in the water, watching his approach, his technique. He adjusted him here and there, muttered quiet suggestions and tips, though he didn’t have to do much. Joe continued to hit the bag until he was tired and his arms were heavy. 

 

He held onto the bag when Ben decided he was finished, his own hair sticking to his head with sweat. They sat together when he was finished, passing a water bottle back and forth. It wasn’t sanitary in the least, but neither seemed to care. 

 

“Why are you helping me?” Joe asked after a moment of comfortable silence. 

 

Ben leaned back on his arms, cocking his head so glance Joe’s way. “If you’re going to fight, you have to know what you’re doing.” Ben answered him lowly. “What we do is to relieve stress, but it’s very easy to get hurt. You have a lot of pent up aggression that needs to be released, but anger won’t help you win if you can’t throw a fight.” 

 

“I know how to punch.” Joe said bitterly. 

 

“You know how to punch, but you don’t know how to fight,” Ben told him with a crude laugh. “There is a big difference between the two. And unless you learn that, you’re just going to wind up with a busted face and broken ribs.” 

 

Joe wanted to be angry. Wanted to be annoyed. Wanted to punch Ben right in his far-too-perfect face and prove to him that he could fight, but he didn’t. Not because he was worried that the blond would absolutely destroy him (because let's face it — he could), but what was the point? Joe may have some aggression going on, but he wasn’t a bully. He wasn’t a bastard. He wouldn’t hurt someone without a legitimate reason. 

 

Joe went home after that, not knowing when he’d see Ben again. They didn’t agree to make this a thing. Practicing with one another. He skipped the second and third session but went on the final day of the week. He watched as Ben threw around Gwilym like the man wasn’t a head taller than him.

 

It was so strange, seeing friends go up against one another. Joe wondered what would happen if he went up against Allen and decided to take that challenge. Allen had no mercy on him, throwing punches and taking a few as well. Allen got him right in the gut, but Joe kicked back to knock him off his feet. 

 

In the end, Allen still won by getting behind him and pinning him down in a chokehold. Joe was getting tired of losing and he went to Ben because of this. They went to the gym, hitting the bags and lifting weights. They were supposed to talk about it and they really weren’t. 

 

Joe was losing at everything. At fighting. At life. He had nothing going for him and while Ben tried to argue that Joe still had a long way to go, it still felt like he was failing. Ben had made an off handed comment that Joe should go out and get laid, but he was losing there too. 

 

Even for someone who swung both ways, Joe couldn’t find a single soul to look at him and take an interest. Back in the states, he had people. Girls at school would think he was charming and adorable and he had messed around with a few guys he met through clubs. Here, nobody gave a shit about him. 

 

He would hit the bag harder and harder until his knuckles were swollen and bruised. His mom mentioned it a time or two, but she never fully noticed. She was too busy with her own life now. They had been in England for a few months and someone had taken an interest in her. Joe could see she was putting off dating because she was still in mourning, but he knew she wanted this. 

 

Wanted the attention. Wanted someone to see her as herself and not just the heartbroken widow who couldn’t handle life on her own and literally had to leave the country because of it. Joe didn’t know what to think. This woman made them give up everything, walk away from everything, and now she was thinking about dating someone else? 

 

Joe won his first fight the day his mom went out for her first date. He went up against someone whose name escaped him, but he was fairly certain it was Peter or Paul. Something along those lines. He still had a lot to learn about fighting, but for now, he could throw a punch or two. Or twenty. He pinned the smaller man down, giving it his all while also shouting like a beast. 

 

When Ben called it, Joe threw himself off the other man, his chest still rising and falling. He stormed out, flexing his fingers to release some of the pain in his knuckles. He thought the anger would leave him, he thought some of the pain that was wedged between his heart would go away, but it didn’t. He was just so fucking annoyed, so fucking pissed off. 

 

Ben found him outside, a strange glance of worry coming over his eyes. “I’m fine.” He told the blond, but he didn’t budge. “I said I’m fucking fine!”

 

“Like hell you are,” Ben commented dryly. “You’re done for the night.” 

 

“I’m what?” 

 

“You heard me,” Ben’s accent was thicker when he was upset. Joe wondered what he could possibly be upset about. Wasn’t like his mother was going on a date just mothers after his father fucking died. “Go home, Joe.” 

 

“You told me to come here and fight. I fucking fight and win and you make me leave?” 

 

“Wherever your head is at right now isn’t going to bring anything but pain. You don’t fight when you’re like angry.” 

 

“WHEN AM I SUPPOSED TO FIGHT THEN!?” Joe shouted, moving closer to Ben. “I won. You fucking called it. I’m not going to leave when I finally fucking won.” 

 

Ben was breathing heavily though his nose, his green eyes blaring as he kept a watchful gaze on the brunet. “Then stay out here until you’ve calmed down.” He muttered thickly, turning back and leaving to return inside. 

 

Joe let out a strained shout, kicking whatever was on the ground in sight. He collapsed against the ground, his back pressed against the cold brick wall. He didn’t cry, but his eyes were red by the time Ben returned to check on him. 

 

He was so fucking miserable, it hurt. Mentally, physically, spiritually. He didn’t know if he was depressed or going through a midlife crisis, but he just hated everything around him. Ben sensed this, helping him to his feet when it was over. 

 

They walked around together, late into the night when the lights were low and they were nothing more than shadows. Joe confessed everything to him. About why he was in England and what it was like watching his father die. How his mom refused to talk to him and instead just ripped him away from everything. 

 

Eighteen was legally an adult, but Joe was still a kid. He should have been drinking dry beer in a New York college dorm room, not beating up a stranger in some shitty fight-club rip off.

 

“And now she’s on a date with some guy, who isn’t my father, acting like it’s completely okay when she can’t even say my dad’s name without crying. And we have the same fucking name!” 

 

“People handle grief differently,” Ben mentioned. He was fumbling around in his pocket, pulling out a lighter and cigarette. “Doesn’t help, but I don’t think anything ever will.” 

 

He began smoking slowly, offering a drag to Joe. The brunet knew better than to start smoking, especially after seeing all the lung cancer patients at the hospital every time he went to visit his dad, but he still wrapped his lips around the butt of the cigarette, taking a slow drag. 

 

He didn’t cough as he exhaled, the smoke leaving his mouth and out into the wind. They passed it back and forth until it was finished, accepting the comfortable silence that surrounded them. 

 

“I’m just so tired.” Joe confessed quietly, looking over to Ben in defeat. 

 

Ben reached up, a hand landing on Joe’s shoulder. He gave a light squeeze, moving it up to his shoulder to the back of his neck. His thumb traced circles there for a moment and the feeling was far better than winning ever could be. 

 

“Let's get you home,” Ben whispered, his voice gentle. 

 

With a bob of his head, he followed Ben back down the road. 

 

While it had been basic knowledge that you weren’t supposed to associate with one another outside the club, Joe found that Allen didn’t listen to that rule very well. One day after class, he invited him to go out with friends, and two of those friends happen to be Rami and Gwilym. 

 

“We do more than just pounce on one another.” Rami insisted as they sat together in the small diner for dinner.

 

“The rules are meant to keep it casual but there comes a time after so many fights when mutual respect is born.” Gwilym mentioned from across the table. “Besides, we’re more than just sparing partners. We’re pals!” 

 

“Male friends!” Allen injected, popping one of his fries (chips — they called them chips in England) into his mouth with a smile.

 

Joe didn’t have any friends, male or otherwise, before this so really, it wasn’t that bad of an idea. Neither mentioned it to Ben or ever invited him out. Joe and Ben still met up at the gym and worked out together. They would hit and kick the bag or spot one another while lifting weights. 

 

They’d pass Ben’s bottle of water back and forth, emptying and refilling it again and again. Joe knew he should just bring his own water bottle, but he never bothered. Ben didn’t seem to mind sharing. 

 

They would work out and smoke and talk about everything other than their own lives. Ben was still a mystery to him. He came to the warehouse, basically running the group, while also working out at the gym, but that was it. He didn’t know about his home life or his career. If he was in school or if he had a girlfriend. 

 

Joe was starting to wonder if Ben even existed outside the workout world when he finally saw him. He was out with his mom, going through the farmer's markets to pick up some things to make for dinner. His mom cooked, but never like this. Never try to find new things to spice up their kitchen. 

 

Joe didn’t want to admit what it meant, so he broke away, going to walk out on his own. He spotted Ben not too far off. He thought about speaking to him, about approaching and starting a conversation, but knew better. 

 

Allen, and Rami, and Gwilym might have been okay with breaking the rules, but Ben was different. He watched from afar as a man appeared at Ben’s side. He was stern looking and while he couldn’t hear what he was saying, it certainly didn’t sound good. 

 

He was waving something in Ben’s face and Ben, the beautiful man that he was, just stood there stoically. Listening and absorbing whatever it was the older man was forcing down his throat. He shoved passed Ben like he was nothing and when Ben turned to follow, they finally locked eyes. 

 

There was a small moment before the blond went off, a silent pleading that Joe knew all too well. He didn’t mention it at the next meeting or the one after that. And when they were working out together, he didn’t say anything either. It wasn’t until he was preparing to leave that Ben finale brought it up. 

 

“My dad is allergic to onions.” He mentioned aloud. “I bought some and didn’t tell him. Sort of went off for it. Nothing important.” 

 

Joe just shrugged it off. “Okay.” He answered. It was none of his business. Any of it. 

 

Ben asked him if he wanted to do something afterwards. Go out to a pub. Find some girls. Joe didn’t want to find girls and he didn’t understand how he’d be able to get into a pub. 

 

Turns out, you could drink at eighteen and Joe already turned nineteen months ago. He ordered a beer and guzzled it down, wanting to have that numb feeling everybody in the movies spoke about. It never came, so he tried again, but only felt his stomach beginning to turn. 

 

Ben drank too, though stopped after two. Joe had one more, and then refused to continue. His head felt heavy and his stomach twisted this way and that way. He thought about throwing up, wondering if that would help. 

 

They walked off, laughing stupidly as they moved together. Joe didn’t know where they were going. He didn’t want to go home, not knowing what he would find there. Ben didn’t want to go home either, so they found themselves sitting on the grass, looking over a shitty car park. 

 

They didn’t have a beer to share and Ben finished his cigarettes, so they were left to just sit together. Joe didn’t know if he was drunk or if it was just being around Ben, but he felt . . . okay. 

 

He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t completely miserable either. He looked to Ben, who was looking off to the distance, lost in thought. 

 

“Thanks,” Joe muttered, his voice catching Ben off guard. “For, you know . . . everything.”

 

For helping him fight. For letting him fight. For listening to him and for not thinking he was some pathetic loser who had nothing going for him. 

 

Ben was shaking his head, his green eyes glistening in the moonlight. He didn’t say anything. Just shook his head and moved closer. And closer, and closer.

 

And then his lips were on his. Those gorgeously beautiful lips, so pouty and plump. Joe thought about those lips often. He tried not to. Honest to God, being attracted to Ben wasn’t something Joe wanted to deal with, but he couldn’t help it.

 

Now they were here, sitting in the moonlight as they kissed slowly. In the back of Joe’s mind, he knew they were doing this because they were drunk. Drunk, and lonely, and had nothing better to do than to sit on the grass and shove their tongues down one another throats. 

 

They continued to kiss until their lips went dumb and Joe felt like he was going to fall asleep. He didn’t want to fall asleep on the grass, but it happened anyway. They fell asleep together, waking in the early morning when the sun was just coming up. 

 

Joe’s stomach ached and his head was pounding as Ben shoved him to wake. They dusted themselves off and walked back into town until they went their separate ways. When Joe entered, he went straight to his bedroom, ignoring his mom in the kitchen as he laid back on the bed. 

 

He didn’t fall asleep again, instead of going to lay on his bed, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with his life. 

 

They didn’t talk about it. What was Joe supposed to say? They were drunk, they were lonely. Thats what happens. Did straight guys kiss other guys when they were drunk and lonely? Probably. Joe wouldn’t know. He was bi. He went both ways. He was selfish, just like the internet said he was, but not selfish enough to bother Ben about this. 

 

They kept on fighting, kept on practicing. They would share the bottle and Joe would watch Ben’s lips, remembering what it was like to have those lips on his own. He missed it. He missed those lips. He wondered if he missed it because he missed kissing, if he missed the human contact, or if he was just a lonely, pathetic bastard. 

 

Who really fucking knew? 

 

Ben asked him to go out again and Joe agreed. He wanted to get drunk again, wanted to stay away from home, away from his mom, and drink with his friend and maybe kiss again. They drank, but not at a bar. Ben took him to the football (soccer?) field behind the university with a six pack. They sat on the bleachers and drank, not really saying much. 

 

Joe hated European beer so much. He only drank one back in America and it was weak as shit. Here, it tasted like strong scented piss and all he wanted to do was stop, but he didn’t. He had his three and sat beside Ben, waiting. Ben just sat there, making idle small talk. 

 

Joe was getting antsy, getting eager. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and cut Ben’s words off with a kiss. The blond was thrown off by the kiss, but didn’t say anything. He wrapped his hand around Joe’s neck to pull him in closer. 

 

They kissed and kissed, allowing their free hands to wonder. Ben’s hand found its way down Joe’s bottle, settling on the zipper of his jeans. Feeling the strong fingers along the outfit of his dick was enough to sober Joe up enough, but he didn’t push Ben away. 

 

He moved his own hand down, tugging at Ben’s waistband until he could slip his hand inside. Everything about Ben was rock hard and that included his cock, which Joe swiftly wrapped his fist around. Ben moved his lips down, groaning into Joe’s neck as he sucked on a mark there. 

 

The brunet had no idea how he’d excuse that one the same way he did the other bruises he had, but he’d come up with something.

 

Ben pushed Joe to lay back, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. They laid together in the dark, making out (or snogging — god he hated British slang) and jerked one another off until they shuttered with release. 

 

They laid there in the mess they made, panting up against the night sky. When they went their separate ways, Joe was sober but his mind was hazed in a completely different sense. He felt dirty in both good and bad ways and when he went home, he climbed in the shower, not caring about the time, and washed himself up. He threw his dirty clothes in the hamper and sat back on his bed. 

 

He had work in just a few hours, but all he could think about was having Ben’s hand on him. 

 

It was a few days later, his mom brought the guy home. His name was Tom. He had a good job and was very polite, but Joe didn’t give a shit. He walked right out of the flat, not even having a place in mind. It was still early in the evening, but that didn’t stop Joe from going down to the pub and grabbing a drink. Sitting, drinking was terrible and pathetic, but he didn’t care. He contacted Allen, seeing if he’d be up for anything. Allen brought along Gwilym, and then Gwilym invited Rami. 

 

They went out again, sitting at the diner while Joe worked off his buzz. He barely paid attention to the conversation, instead shoveling his meal into his mouth. Somehow they got onto the topic of Ben and Rami, ever the eager to impress, began explaining the blond like he was an animal you’d watch from afar. 

 

“He put the group together after his dad started slapping him around as a kid.” He mentioned. There was a smile on his face, like he was oh so very proud that he knew something the others didn’t. “He still does it now, though he’d never own up to it. His dad is a big military guy. You know the type. Racist. Homophobic. Sexist. If Ben makes somebody bleed, it’s probably because his father called him a pansy.” 

 

Joe left the diner that night thinking about Ben, about his home life and about his father. Living with a man like that was hard, especially if you felt a certain way that he didn’t approve of. Joe thought about all the nights they had spent together and how Ben wouldn’t speak of it. 

 

Joe had so many questions and yet he found himself unable to say anything. Doing what they did brought a small amount of excitement in Joe’s life and the brunet feared that disappearing if he brought it into the light. 

 

When his mom went out on another date with Tom, Joe decided to push his luck. He got Ben’s number from Allen and invited him over. He offered him weak beer and chips (like actual chips, not fries. They called them crisps there). They sat on the couch, watching some shitty reality show. They moved closer, inch by inch until finally Joe had enough. 

 

He felt ridiculous, always making the first move, but Ben was more than happy to make the rest. He pulled Joe onto his lap, holding him there as their tongues would twist and moans were exchanged. 

 

Piece by piece, articles of clothing would come off and eventually, Joe decided he wanted more than just a handy and a couple of kisses. He tugged Ben into the bedroom, pushing him down onto the tiny twin bed that he slept in night after night. 

 

No words were exchanged. Ben was looking at him with those wild green eyes, the expression unreadable. Maybe he was too sober for this. Maybe he really wasn’t gay. He didn’t stop Joe from taking him in his mouth, instead choosing to moan and pull at his brunet (sometimes ginger) colored hair. 

 

He didn’t have lube, because he didn’t plan for this. He hoped for it, but who plans on having sex with the guy who runs your secret fight club? He had lotion, and it would be enough. It was antibacterial and hypoallergenic. If he got an infection, he’d deal with it. It was Europe — he had health insurance here. 

 

Ben rolled them over so Joe was face down on the bed. He fingered him slowly, opening him up and making him moan like there was no tomorrow. Joe itched to jerk himself off, but the blond refused. Every time Joe reached for his cock, Ben would smack his hand away and pin his wrist above his head. 

 

When he finally did enter him, he was slow. Almost too slow. Like Ben was trying to make the most of it before throwing that all out the window and taking what they both obviously needed. Joe had never fucked a guy before let alone bottom. It was strange, but he liked it. New and interesting. He would be sore, that much was sure, but he’d deal with that when it came. 

 

Joe wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but by the time they both finished, the sheets were soaked and his head was heavy. Ben didn’t stay the night, just long enough for Joe to fall asleep. When he woke, he ripped off the sheets and tossed them into the hamper. Heading into the living room, he found his mom sitting at the table, drinking her coffee. 

 

His clothes were still on the floor and he collected them without a word. His mom tried to talk to him, but he rebuffed her. She didn’t want to talk when he needed it, so she didn’t get to talk when he had nothing to say. 

 

Collecting his things, he went to the laundry mat, surprised to see Ben there as well. They sat together on the bench, not really saying much as they faced opposite sides of the wall. In the corner of his eye, Joe found Ben smiling at the sight of Joe’s dirty sheets.

 

They both stood, ready to do their next loads when Joe made a bold move. He took the bundled up, soiled sheets and pushed them against Ben’s chest. “You can clean them,” He told him with a shrug. “Your fault they’re dirty in the first place.” 

 

Ben clenched his jaw at Joe’s words. There were a few other people in the place, though nobody was paying much attention to him. Lifting his hand, he took the sheets, shoving them into the machine with his clothing. “Cheeky bastard,” Ben muttered, slamming the machine’s door shut. 

 

Joe hummed, smiling to himself as he sat back down. It was a triumph. Small, but still real. 

 

When they sex again, it was in the back of the gym after hours. Joe’s mom was home for the night and he didn’t want to hang around while she was still awake. Ben was upset about something and was hitting the hanging bag harder than usual. Joe offered to get a drink, but Ben declined. He had work in the morning and couldn’t handle the hangover. 

 

Joe offered to suck his dick, bold and simple. It was the first time they had done anything without drinking first, but it didn’t seem to matter. With the lock of the door, Joe got down on his knees, taking Ben into his mouth again. 

 

He sucked him slowly, his fingers digging into the muscles of Ben’s thighs. He allowed Ben to hold onto him, thrusting into his mouth at a steady speed. He pulled out without finishing, pulling Joe to his feet so he could kiss those swallow lips. 

 

Joe held onto the hanging bag as Ben fucked into him. They didn’t have lube or lotion, so spit would have to work. The blond made sure Joe was loose enough for him, getting onto his own knees to open him up with his fingers and tongue. Joe clung to the hanging back, biting into it without much care or purchase. 

 

When Ben deemed him ready, he stood and pushed into Joe, allowing only their moans and the slapping of skin being the sounds echoing in the room. Ben held onto him, one hand squeezing his lip while the other ran up and down his chest. He gave him new set of marks that he would have to attempt to hide.

 

Or maybe he’d show them off proudly. He still didn’t know. 

 

It was after that they decided this would be a thing they did. They rarely spoke about it, only when they were alone. They would still practice, still, fight. Ben had taken a few too many hits during one fight, breaking a rib in the process. 

 

It was the first time he went to Ben’s place. His dad was nowhere to be found and the blond grumbled that he was visit some old friends. They laid together on Ben’s bed as he iced his wounds. They kissed sweetly and spoke carefully. Joe offered to blow him in hopes of cheering him up, but all Ben wanted to do was sleep. 

 

Joe spent the night, curled up with Ben in his bed, his head on his chest as they slept. It was so comfortable, so domestic. Joe felt restless when he woke, Ben still holding onto him. The blond had six weeks to heal, which meant no fighting for him. So instead he would watch from the corner, making sure everybody was going along with the rules, that nobody was playing dirty. 

 

Joe fought still, taking a few hits and giving his own. They sat together after a specially good night. Joe went twice, winning both though his hand was in bad shape. Ben wrapped his hand so carefully, kissing his knuckles when he was finished. 

 

They started seeing one another more outside of the warehouse. They never did anything, never held hands or shared a longing glance. But Ben would sometimes join the group when they went out to the diner or would visit the book store that Joe worked at. 

 

He liked to read and would spend hours roaming the shelves, finding more than a few novels that could keep his attention. 

 

When a year had passed since he first arrived, Joe chose not to celebrate. His father was gone and his mom apparently moved on. She was seeing Tom more openly, bringing him around and having him for dinner. Joe refused to stay home, refused to give Tom the time of day. 

 

He wanted to Ben about it, who listened easily and opened up about his own shitty home life. His mum left years ago and his father, who had always been a bit of a tight ass, turned violent. Ben was bitter towards his mum, feeling she had abandoned him and left him behind with such a bastard. 

 

They fantasied running away together. About leaving their shitty situations and making a life of their own. They’d set up a gym where people could come and go, work out and work on themselves. Let off some steam without having to shout into a pillow or cry themselves to sleep. 

 

They had sex in Ben’s house again, this time facing one another. It was slow and almost gentle. Romantic even. Joe couldn’t remember feeling so okay, even with so much bad going on around him. They fell asleep together in their arms and when they woke, they had sex again, this time with Ben bottoming.

 

It was needy and rushed, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t get to finish. 

 

Ben’s father returned in the early morning and found them. Joe was dragged from the bed, thrown onto the floor while Ben was left staring wide-eyed and frazzled. Ben tried to argue with his dad, only to get a fist to the face. Joe tried to step between them, but it didn’t matter. Ben moved forward, snapping at Joe to leave. 

 

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and get Ben out of the situation, but he didn’t get the chance. Ben shoved his clothes into his hands and he was forced (literally dragged) out of the house. 

 

Joe didn’t hear from Ben after that. Not for a few days anyway. 

 

When he did see him again, he became Ben found him at school. He was sporting new bruises along his face. In the year and few weeks he had known the man, never once had he seen Ben was a bruise on his face. He would never get hit there. He’d dodge and avoid it, but now here he was. Black eye and a cut on his lip.

 

He looked so small, despite his large size. His green eyes weren’t shining, weren’t bright like they had been. He didn’t say anything to Joe, instead of holding out the baseball pendant that he had left behind. 

 

Joe reached for Ben, but the blond jerked back as if he had been burnt. He handed the chain off and turned around to leave. Joe followed, holding onto his arm to get him to stop. Ben pulled back, his eyes on fire. 

 

“Stop it. Just stop, Joe!” 

 

“Don’t walk away from me,” Joe muttered. “Don’t walk away from this.” 

 

“Stop it. Now.” 

 

Joe didn’t stop. He held onto Ben, gripping his arm as they stood in the quid. Nobody was around, nobody was near them. They were hidden behind trees and buildings. It was just them and yet Ben looked at Joe as if he was the last person he ever wanted to see. 

 

“Don’t let him take this from us.” Joe pleaded, squeezing Joe’s arm. 

 

Ben shoved him away, but Joe didn’t persist. He moved forward, blocking his way. He tried to kiss him, tried to get him to see that this wasn’t something he should walk away from. Ben shoved him away, shouting at Joe to stop. 

 

And when he didn’t, Ben hit him. Square in the face, knocking Joe off his feet until he hit the ground with a thud. Joe sat up, his nose bleeding down his face. 

 

“You can’t walk away from this.” He told him weakly. “Whether it’s me . . . or someone else . . . it’s who you are. Don’t let him win.”

 

Ben didn’t stay to listen. He walked away from Joe, leaving him bleeding on the ground as he disappeared into sight. When Joe returned home, his mother was doting onto him, helping him ice his face and clean away the blood. 

 

They hadn’t spoken much in the past few weeks. Joe ignored his birthday, not even bothering to open the gift she had given him when it passed. He held onto the baseball pendent, sighing heavily. He missed his dad and wished he was still there. 

 

But he wasn’t. And his mom was moving on. It was time for him to move on too. 

 

He didn’t go back to the warehouse or the gym. He went to work and school and home. That was it. That was his life. It was bleak and grim but he dealt with it. He missed his dad, but he was dead. He missed Ben, but he was basically dead too. 

 

He didn’t say much as he had dinner with Tom and his mother, trying his best not to get upset at seeing his mom smile and laugh and hold Tom’s hand. He knew this was good. That she wasn’t forgetting about his dad, just finding her own happiness again. 

 

Joe wondered if he would ever have his own happiness again. 

 

He went back to the fight club, standing in the shadows as he watched everybody fight. There were new faces and some old. Allen was there, as were Gwilym and Rami. Ben was there two, over seeing it all. When the fight finished, Ben shouted out to know who was next. 

 

“I am,” Joe shouted, stepping forward. All eyes were on his own as he pulled off his shirt, tossing it aside. “Against Hardy.” 

 

“Not happening,” Ben muttered. His bruises were healing, but the lack of light in his eyes was still present. 

 

Joe continued to remove the clothing needed, though this time he kept on the chain as he stepped into the fighting space. “Let's go.” He ordered, getting into the stance. 

 

Ben’s nostrils flared as he let out a heavy sigh through his nose. He turned towards Gwilym, pulling off his shirt and tossing it to him. He kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks, moving forward. 

 

Any other time, seeing Ben like this, sweaty and glistening. Beautiful as ever. It would be distracting. But not tonight. Truth was, Joe saw Ben fight enough to know his movements. He followed a strategy and Joe was good at following things. Joe allowed him to get a few hits in before giving some of his own in. They were circling one another, like partners in a dance. 

 

Ben hit him in the stomach and it was rougher than Joe remembered, but he took it like a champ.

 

“Enough!” Ben muttered as he pinned him down. Joe pushed his hips forward, rolling them over until he was on top of the blond. Ben threw him off, but Joe was light on his feet, easily standing back up. 

 

They went back and forth, panting heavily as they took the hits that were given. Joe’s lids were growing heavy. His head hurt and he was fucking tired, but he wouldn’t give in. Wouldn’t let him win. 

 

With a heavy twist, Joe dodged Ben’s swift kick and thrust his arm forward for a rough upper cut hit that caught Ben off guard and knocked him off his feet. The room was silent as Ben laid there. Ben didn’t get knocked down, didn’t get knocked out, and didn’t get hit in the face. Those things didn’t happen here. But tonight they did. 

 

Joe stood over him, turning his head to spit the blood from his mouth. Ben was staring at him, his green eyes filled with pain, but Joe didn’t think it was the physical kind. 

 

Gwilym shouted that it was over. That Ben was down and Joe was the winner. It was a tradition that the winner helped the loser stand as if to offer a sense of respect, but Joe didn’t do that. Joe turned his head to Ben, taking his clothes from Allen as he walked out. 

 

He went home, laying back in his bed as he pressed an ice pack to his face. He might have been a loser in life, but tonight he had won a fight against Ben and he was certain he’d win a lot more now. 

 

No longer did he dwell about his pathetic life. No more would he skirt by, accepting the hand he had been dealt. For so long he embraced the things they did in the dark, but no more. Joe wanted more. He needed more. 

 

Joe didn’t want to survive this life. He wanted to live it. 

 

He wasn’t happy with his mom moving on, but she was. And Joe had to accept that. So he accepted Tom. He knew deep down Tom wasn’t trying to replace his father. He lost his own wife and lived so long without anyone to make him smile or laugh and his mom did that for him. 

 

Joe figured if his mom could find happiness, then so could he. 

 

Joe was at work when he saw Ben again. The bruise Joe had given him was lingering and it brought a swell of pride to the brunet when he saw it. Ben didn’t run from him, keeping his gaze from across the store. 

 

When he approached, Joe tried not to think of all the ways Ben used to make his heart flutter. How his heart was fluttering still, even after all the shit they had gone through. He had a book in his hand. A collection of Oscar Wilde. How fucking cliche. 

 

“Moved in with Gwil.” He confessed somberly. “He’s taking over the club for a while. Sorting some stuff out.” 

 

“Good for you,” Joe answered him. 

 

Ben shifted from one foot to the other, looking smaller than he was. His green eyes, so beautiful and shining, looked sad and gray. “I’m sorry, Joe.” He admitted. 

 

“I know,” Joe answered, shifting carefully. Joe didn’t know what he was sorry for. Maybe the fight. Maybe for hitting him back at school. Maybe for the whole situation. Either way, he sounded sincere. 

 

“I’m heading to the pub later. If you want to join.” Ben offered. 

 

Joe shook his head somberly. “Gave that up.” He told him. Joe didn’t need alcohol to make him feel things. He didn’t want that lame numbness to come and make everything okay. He could do that on his own. 

 

Ben bobbed his head, accepting defeat. 

 

It was almost sweet, seeing how much he affected this man. It brought another swell of pride into his chest. “Ever play baseball?” Joe offered suddenly, watching as Ben’s head perked up. The blond shook his head and Joe shrugged. “I’ll have to show you how.” 

 

Reaching forward, he handed Ben his book. Their fingers grazed and at that moment, Joe knew that things would be okay. 

 

Maybe not now. Maybe not in a long while. Maybe he’d end up with Ben and they’d live out that fantasy of being together or maybe Ben’s upbringing and Joe’s own bitterness would tear them apart. Nobody really knew. 

 

But he looked forward to finding out. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? I know this was rather heavier than what I usually post.


End file.
